Charred
by Kaio
Summary: Sanada and Wakato meet on the tennis courts, tension ensues. SanaWaka yaoi.


******Title:** Charred  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Prince of Tennis, I just play with the characters .  
**AN:** I don't usually write, so I'm sorry for any OOC. (Written after "Masquerade", but actually takes place before.)

I don't know why I accepted your challenge to play; it wasn't something that I normally would have done. Possibly if you were Atobe, Tezuka, or one of my teammates, but you are not. Finding myself at the street courts was strange enough, but seeing you there was even more outlandish. Your style of play leaves much to be desired, and it sinks in when we finish the first of several games. I know you've practiced hard to imitate how you do, but you can't rely on pretending to win everything in tennis, or everything in your life. Even though I'd like to tell you this, I will not, but I'll show you.

****

How do you joke and laugh between serves? Do you take me lightly? You know the game well, and yet you mock it and everyone who plays it with your jokes and cockiness. I'm very glad at this moment that there are no fangirls here at your side to further irritate me the way you already do. There's something in your eyes that makes me think that you believe that you can win this. Do you go after everything in life like this? A blind aggression to what you desire? Do you desire me?  


**  
I have no interest in anything but tennis. You are good, I will not deny you that, but until you realize you who are you'll never reach your potential. You seem to be playing for more than a win. Behind that downward brow and slight smile I can sense there's something going on. Your green-gray eyes have a hint of something that I've seen before. It's like the way that Atobe eyes Tezuka when they're not playing. Niou once commented that it looked like lust. But Niou likes to cause trouble, and there is no way that lust could fit into this situation.  
**

**  
I'm winning. You really should have known this is how our game would be. But I am surprised with how passionately you play. You are serious about this game, only making light of the situation when the ball is not in play. You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the front of your shirt and I notice just how hard you've trained. Tight abdominal muscles flex as your arm moves side to side. I am not staring, but I am slightly impressed by your determination. Your leg strength must be incredible to run back and forth as much as you do, and to be able to put such power in shots that don't have a proper stance. Not one of your hairs moves out of its place and I'm oddly fascinated by the way it defies gravity.  
**

**  
Get back to the game, Sanada. You serve, and this time it's much more precise. You're studying me as I'm studying you. A fire lights in your eyes suddenly, and I think that you know all I've been thinking. You purposely bend over, tying a shoelace that's not in need of tying. Eyes linger on your back, and then a little lower. I think to myself that an artist would love to paint you nude. You have the look and this presence that pulls things towards you. Another serve, and this time your shirt lifts up slightly. I let myself linger on your stomach a little longer than I should but manage to make it to return the ball in time. Training has paid off.  
**

**  
I keep looking into your eyes. You must think I'm staring, and to myself I must admit that I am. There's something about you that's intoxicating. You have an aggressive play that seems backed by an endless determination. I'm up four games to one, but you don't seem concerned at all. I wipe my brow with my left sweatband. You've made me work pretty hard, but I can't help think it's because of the slight distraction that you're providing. I feel like I am being pulled towards you also. We've said no more than ten words to each other and yet I find myself thinking that I'd like to get to know you better.  
**

**  
I win another game, but you still don't seem concerned. You point out that my play is a little sloppy. I don't reply, I only serve the ball. Play continues. You put up a fight; that fire in your eyes growing deeper. I start to agree with Niou that it's the look of lust. Then I wonder if my eyes mirror the same. My hands are shaking, and I know it's not from playing tennis. Quickly I finish the game, there's no chance that I could have continued while still thinking like I am.  
**

**  
We meet at the net to shake hands. No words are exchanged, but you look at me with eyes that burn and I know now what lust feels like. Both of our palms are sweaty and our breathing is ragged. For a moment we stop moving altogether. I stare into your eyes and on impulse I pull you by the back of your neck so your lips are crushed against mine. It's a fierce kiss; we bite at each other's lips, our tongues snake out and thrust deeply into each other's mouths. We continue for a few minutes before our breathing slows and the kisses with it. It turns to something passionate, something where I can't help but reach around and place my hand on your lower back to pull you closer to me. Our lips are full from the force of our first kiss, but we don't seem to care. Slow, slightly open-mouth kisses continue, and you let out a small groan. I pull back and lick at my lips; I still can taste you there. I wish it would stay. You have a genuine smile on your face, something I feel you don't let many see. Your eyes have become light and happy, but still full of lust. I allow myself to smile back at you, but I fear that it's nothing more than a small upturn of the corners of my mouth.**

**It's gotten dark and we both must head home. I let go of your neck and your back. Suddenly I realize that you've had your hands on my back the whole kiss. This makes me frown; I should have noticed this. You grin at my confusion. We pick up our hastily dropped rackets and get our bags.  
**

**  
You walk over to me as I turn to go down the stairs to the sidewalk below. I feel your hand on my shoulder so I turn around. You smile at me again, and both of our eyes reflect lust. You place a small kiss on my lips, whisper a goodbye in my ear, and then you've run off. **

**Once you're gone I touch a few fingertips to my lips in disbelief and then I head home.**


End file.
